Chapter 19.

"I need to talk to you about Callie," said Stef. It was the day after Callie left, and no one in the family was taking it very well. Angry, and desperate for some kind of resolution, Stef decided to pay a visit to her foster daughter's counselor, and let her know exactly how she felt.

The woman nodded. "How is she doing in her new placement?"

Stef clenched her jaw, trying to curb her temper. "Well, she's heartbroken, of course. And I can't say I blame her." She sighed. "I wish you would've come to us before doing this. We could've dealt with her problems differently."

"I'm sorry you're upset, Ms. Foster," the counselor replied. "But I was simply following protocol."

"Oh, I'm more than upset," Stef told her firmly. "I'm livid! We love Callie. And we were more than willing to give her all the patience and support she needed. Ours was the first safe, stable home she's ever had, and then she gets taken from it the first time she makes a mistake. What kind of message does that send her?" She felt tears sting her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of that woman, but she couldn't stop herself. "She was just starting to open up to us. She's been through so much... some things, we're just learning about. The only reason she's been acting the way she has is because she was being terrorized by someone who abused her. She was scared." She brushed her tears away as they fell, not wanting to show how vulnerable she felt. "We know she's a troubled girl, but traumatizing her even more is not the answer." She sighed pressing her fingers to her temple. "I'm sorry... I just had to get this off my chest."

"Again, I'm sorry," the counselor apologized, her face drawn.

"We want our daughter back," said Stef. "And if there's anything you can do, please do it." Silently, she resolved that once Callie was home, she'd find her a new therapist, somewhere else. One who actually had her best interests in mind. She knew that once again, Callie had been judged unfairly, based on the size of her file. And that was a shame, because Callie wasn't a bad girl at all. So, she'd done some things she wasn't proud of. Who hasn't? But it was almost destructive how she was never able to move forward and put her mistakes behind her without someone bringing them back up. Stef and Lena had always made it a point to treat the children they fostered, not as problems, but as people with problems. It saddened them how harshly foster children were judged, when most of them were just victims of circumstance. "I'm a mother, but I'm also a cop," she said. "Callie doesn't belong in that place, and that's my professional opinion."

The counselor shuffled some papers on her desk. "If you feel a mistake has been made, maybe I can write some kind of statement... I'll see what I can do."

Stef nodded. "Please. Thank you for your time."

Meanwhile, Callie sat in her first group therapy session at the group home. Attendance was mandatory for residents. It was much like the sessions she'd attended at the counseling center, but in some ways, it was more tolerable. The new therapist wasn't as sickening as the old one. Callie could see her methods were tough, but she'd rather have someone who was tough but honest than someone who was sweet but phony. Still, she opted out of sharing anything, knowing there were other ways to be difficult than blatantly acting out. She'd barely spoken to anyone at all since she arrived. Her silence was a subtle but effective act of rebellion.

It interested her, the depth of some of the other kids' problems. These kids were the refuse of the foster system... the "High Risk" category she'd warned Brandon she might be placed in if anyone found out about Liam. They were almost mythological to Callie... a cautionary tale to keep her on the straight and narrow. And being in the midst of them was surreal. It was almost like walking over a bridge and meeting a troll at the toll booth. Most of the High Risk crowd seemed to have turbulent and disturbing histories. One teenage boy had tortured animals before being placed in the home. Another girl was something of a pyromaniac. And another girl had been arrested for prostitution. The list of destructive behavior went on and on. Am I really one of them now? Callie wondered. Nothing she'd ever done seemed that bad in comparison. While the other residents talked about their problems and progress, Callie hung back and listened, surveying the room. In the circle of unfamiliar faces, someone stood out. A girl, slightly older than her, with long, dark hair. Callie could've sworn she met that girl before. She couldn't put her finger on when or where, but she felt as if they were connected somehow. She tuned out the conversation going on around her as she racked her brain for memories.

"Serena?" the therapist called. "Do you have anything to share with the group today?"

The girl with the dark hair shook her head. "No."

Callie's ears perked up. She'd been so lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't hear the therapist call the mystery girl by name. But she did, and miraculously, it jogged her memory. In her mind's eye, Serena's face aged backwards a few years. Her straight teeth were replaced with braces, and her hair was a little shorter. Her hazel eyes, which were now somewhat vacant, became vibrant and bright. As the image became clearer, she remembered exactly where she'd seen that face before. Serena was the first one to leave the room as soon as group was dismissed. Not wanting to loose her in the crowd, Callie hurried after her.

To Be Continued